A Story Left Unfinished
by Copycat
Summary: Andy goes to see Sam in hospital, but someone else is already there. Post-ep for You Can See the Stars. Angsty angst with a side order of Romance. No-one dies. I promise.


TITLE: A Story Left Unfinished  
RATING: PG-13  
CLASSIFICATION: Angsty angst with a side order of Romance. No-one dies. I promise.  
SPOILERS: Through 4x13 You Can See the Stars  
SUMMARY: Andy goes to see Sam in hospital, but someone else is already there.

Content disclaimer: This was supposed to be a lot darker, but somehow it just didn't work out that way. Also, confession: I never finished reading _Moby Dick_, either. And now it's in a different country from me, and I couldn't possibly buy another copy, so, yeah. I guess I'll have to start over at some point, too.

Medical disclaimer: Although I have watched a_lot_ of_Grey's Anatomy_, I'm not really there for the medicine, so don't judge me too harshly on that.

* * *

She makes her way slowly along the hospital corridor, ready to fight any doctors or nurses who might try to prevent her from getting to his room; ready to run if Marlo is already there.

After everything that's happened, everything that was said between her and Sam yesterday, she just can't face his girlfriend right now.

She stops where the corridor bends, just feet from a clear view of his room. Pausing for a moment, feeling a little stupid, she peers around the corner to make sure the coast is clear.

She freezes when she sees the outline of another person in the room through the open blinds covering the large window that makes up most of the wall. But when she looks closer she realizes that it's not Marlo, and no one else could keep her away right now, so she walks slowly the last few steps to his hospital room, waiting silently in the doorway for the stranger to notice her.

"You must be Marlo," the woman says, looking up from her seat next to Sam's hospital bed, smiling a perfunctory, tired smile that is more to do with manners than any pleasure in the prospect of company. "I'm Sarah, Sam's sister."

Andy scratches at an imaginary itch on her arm, looking down at the sleeve of her shirt. "Uh, no. I'm Andy. McNally," she adds, just in case. That's what Sam has always called her, after all.

The woman looks at Sam, as if expecting him to wake up and make the necessary introductions, but when nothing happens she looks up. "Sorry, that doesn't ring a bell. Come on in, though. Sit down."

Her words hit Andy like a slap in the face, and it must show, because Sarah shakes her head and smiles, now looking at her little brother with something more like reproach. "I wouldn't worry about it. It could even be a compliment." She squeezes his hand affectionately. "I mean, he never talks about anything important if he can help it. Swarek family tradition."

Andy half-laughs, half-sobs in reply, and goes to sit down in the plastic chair on the other side of Sam's bed.

She heard the doctor's words yesterday - liver damage, complications, induced coma - but they have not really sunk in until now, when she finally sees him, surrounded by machines that are necessary to keep him alive.

She feels Sarah's eyes on her, but her own are locked on the tube going down Sam's throat, making sure oxygen is pumped into his lungs at regular intervals.

"It's strange," Sarah says finally. "I thought he'd look, I don't know, smaller. Weak." She shakes her head. "He looks just the same, only there's all this." She waves a hand to indicate the heart monitor, ventilator and other assorted medical devices surrounding the bed.

"He doesn't look the same to me," Andy says, and it's true. He does look smaller to her, somehow. But then again, she hasn't really looked at him for a long time. Not properly.

* * *

Andy looks up when Sarah walks into the hospital room and smiles shyly in greeting.

"Hi," Sarah says, smiling back and holding up a styrofoam cup. "If I'd known you were coming back today I would've brought you a cup. It's from the nurses' station, much better than the vending machine."

Andy shakes her head. "It's fine. I don't think I really need any more caffeine today. This month, probably," she adds, shrugging self-deprecatingly. She has spent the entire day in debriefing, retelling the story of what happened again and again until the words she is saying have lost all significance and it feels like she's telling the story of someone else. This is illusion has been broken, of course, by the sight of Sam in his hospital bed, but the effect of the many cups of coffee she has consumed to get through the day after another sleepless night is more difficult to overcome.

Sarah laughs briefly, sitting down in the free chair, blowing steam off her coffee.

"I can go, if you want. I mean, if you want to be alone," Andy offers uncertainly, her eyes shifting from Sam to his sister, her entire body protesting the offer she feels like she ought to make.

Sarah shakes her head, a reassuring smile on her lips. "You come by as much as you want, Andy McNally. I'm sure he appreciates it."

Andy shifts in her seat, not really sure what to say to that, and picks up something from the bedside table. Sarah turns her head and sees her holding up a book. "Moby Dick. Are you reading this to him?"

Sarah rolls her eyes. "It's a metaphor, Sarah," she says, her voice deep and Andy laughs loudly at the obvious, and really quite good, imitation of Sam at his most condescending.

"He listens to it when he's undercover. He said it's just because it's long."

"It is," Sarah agrees, reaching for the book. Andy hands it to her, and she opens it to a page almost two thirds of the way through. "This is how far he's ever going to read. Because it's so long, and he keeps starting over, so he'll never be done."

"Some metaphor," Andy says.

* * *

Noelle and Frank have just left, and Andy and Sarah are settling down in their respective chairs. It is the third evening of their bedside vigil and they seem to have developed a kind of routine: When other visitors come by Andy leaves, mostly to see Dov, who is hovering outside Chloe's hospital room, feeling even more helpless and frustrated than Andy does. At least she can_see_ Sam, Dov is not even allowed into Chloe's room.

It's not that she doesn't want to see anyone else, it's just that she doesn't want them to see her, like this, with him. She feels too vulnerable to be sure that they wouldn't see something in her face that she isn't ready for anyone to see. Not even Sam.

They don't talk much, in general, both of them more comfortable with the silence than with unimportant small-talk. Ironic, Andy thinks to herself. Sam has accused her in the past of talking too much. Now she's quiet and he isn't even awake to enjoy it.

"He tried so hard for me," Sarah says after about half an hour, not bothering to explain what she's referring to, but Andy is pretty sure she knows.

Andy looks at her, nodding, not wanting to push but urging her to go on.

"He was just a little kid and he—he just wouldn't give up. In a way, it just made it worse. To see him trying and failing because I couldn't be better. So I had that to blame myself for on top of everything and it made getting better even harder." She looks up, tears spilling from her eyes. "You must think I'm a horrible person."

Andy shakes her head emphatically. "Not at all. And neither does he."

"I should have been better, for him."

"I'm sure he feels the same way about you. Actually, I know he does."

Sarah smiles sadly, Andy's words making their way slowly through her fears and worries about Sam to a place in the back of her mind, where she files them away for later. "Yeah, well, that's sort of the problem, isn't it? He's always gonna feel like he isn't good enough, and I can't help but think that's my fault."

"I'm pretty sure he was probably born that way," Andy says jokingly.

"That does make me feel a little bit better," Sarah deadpans. "Thanks for that."

Andy grins. "Sure."

* * *

"I don't even know why I'm still here," Nick tells her, meticulously cleaning the last plate before turning around to look at her. It seems that no matter how late she stays at the hospital he is there when she gets home, cooking something she doesn't really feel like eating but forces down anyway, because he's trying so hard and she feels so bad for him.

Andy sighs, too exhausted and emotionally drained to have this conversation right now. "I'm sorry, Nick, I just can't-I need to be there."

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand. "I get that, Andy, I really do. Believe me. I just don't know where I fit into it all."

She rubs her face roughly with one hand, willing the tears that are threatening to spill to make their way back up her tear ducts. "I don't know where _anything_ fits. I just know I need to be there for him. He's always been there for me."

"Has he? I mean, has he really, Andy?" Nick sounds annoyed and her temper flares immediately at his criticism of the man lying helpless in a hospital bed right now.

"Yes! He has_always_ been there when it matters. He got_shot_ because he was there. And now he's there in that bed and it's my fault." Her voice breaks and he is by her side immediately, holding her, because when she's hurting there's nothing else he _can_ do, even if her heart is breaking over someone else.

"How is it your fault?" He asks, softly kissing the top of her head, one hand stroking her hair.

"He was going to leave. He walked out of the station, and I followed him. I made him come back."

He winces, the implications of what she's saying, on top of everything she's been doing, clear to him. She made him come back, because she hasn't let him go. And she's never going to. "That doesn't make anything your fault. No one on that list was supposed to leave the station."

"Well, still," Andy insists, unable to argue with his logic, but unwilling to admit it.

Nick smiles in spite of himself. This is the stubborn Andy McNally that he fell for. He wants to tell her that - that he loves her, that he's the right guy, the better guy, for_her_, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to make her feel guilty for not feeling the same way.

"I_am_ sorry," Andy whispers minutes later, her head still resting on his chest.

He nods, his chin moving against the top of her head. "I know. It's okay."

"It's really not," she sighs.

He doesn't have the energy to disagree with her so instead he just stands there, arms around her, letting her weep silently into his t-shirt, because sometimes being the good guy sucks, but not enough to be any other way.

* * *

"I love him." Her words are quiet, her eyes glued to the linoleum floor of the hospital room that is the scene of their every conversation.

Sarah looks at her, her gaze calm and steady, waiting for her to look up. "I know that," she says when their eyes finally meet, smiling slightly. "And I'm sure he does, too."

Andy looks momentarily confused, as if she isn't aware that she's an open book with her daily visits and nail-biting and longing looks. "I guess." She told him, and she's sure he heard her, but still, she isn't sure he _knows_.

Sarah doesn't know what Sam's relationship with this woman who comes by every day and just sits there as if her whole world depends on him getting better is, but she's pretty sure it's a story she's going to be really interested in hearing when her emotionally challenged little brother finally wakes up. Part of her wants to ask Andy, and she has a feeling she'd probably tell her, just because she looks like she needs to talk – to someone, anyone – but she isn't ready to hear it yet.

Right now her brother is fighting for his life, and that's all she can deal with just now. She can't handle also knowing, rather than just suspecting, that if he dies now, he'll be missing out on something he had always just assumed he would never have.

* * *

Oliver comes into the room on day four, no longer wearing a hospital gown. He has been there before, first in a wheelchair pushed by Celery, and then walking by himself, one hand keeping his hospital gown closed, swearing at its poor design every few steps as it threatens to blow open.

"You're going home?" Andy asks, smiling at him as he walks in the door. He is the only one she will stay for.

Oliver nods, smiling at both of them in greeting. "Doc signed the papers five minutes ago, thought I'd come and say goodbye."

He squeezes Andy's shoulder, his eyes on Sam's face, and nods to himself, looking determined. "He's gonna be fine, McNally. And then he's gonna give us all hell for being worried." As if his words would make it happen.

"I know," she agrees. "He's going to be terrible."

"He'll probably never let it go. He's going to think we actually care about him," Oliver deadpans.

Andy smiles but doesn't reply and Oliver gives her a significant look. The same kind of look he'd give her when he was trying to convince her that she was bothered by Sam being with Marlo – and that she wanted to talk about it. She looks away only to find Sarah watching the two of them closely, which is _not_ helping her relax, so instead she turns to stare at Sam, because at least he won't look at her like she's an open book. Not today, anyway.

* * *

"I think I'm beginning to understand," Sarah says conversationally the next evening. The doctor was there earlier in the day, while Andy was at work, telling her that her brother is doing well, they might bring him out of the coma the next day, so she is in a good mood.

"Understand what?"

"Why I never heard about you before."

"Oh," Andy says, picking up_Moby Dick_ and leafing through it at random. The fact that Sam hadn't thought she was important enough to tell his sister about still stings. "So, why?"

"Well, he's an idiot," Sarah explains. "But he's not_that_ big an idiot. He knows how smart_I_ am."

Andy looks at her, confused.

"He knows that if he ever talked about you, I'd know. And you know Sam, he doesn't want anyone to know. Anything."

"You'd know what?" Andy asks, genuinely confused.

"That you're it," Sarah says simply.

"I'm not, though," Andy says sadly, cottoning on. "He's with Marlo."

"Sure he is," Sarah says as if that doesn't matter at all. "I never said he was perfect. We all make mistakes. And you're the one who's here, while I'm beginning to wonder if that Marlo woman even really exists."

"She does," Andy replies, looking at the door as if half-expecting her to suddenly appear. "She just… She has a lot going on right now. The guy who shot Sam… She was…" She falters, not wanting to say that what happened was Marlo's fault. Marlo may have started the dominoes falling, but she had never meant for anything like this to happen. She had just been trying to get a peadophile off the street.

"Well, sure," Sarah says. She doesn't know that much about what led to the shooting. Only that the man who shot Sam is dead now. That was all she cared to know at the time. "But even so, if your boyfriend has been shot, you go see him. I think that's pretty much how things work."

Andy doesn't reply for a while, and when she finally speaks, it isn't about Marlo. "I could just be some crazy stalker, though. You can't know that Sam wants me here, just because I am."

Sarah laughs briefly as if what Andy said is completely absurd, and for just an instant Andy can see the family resemblance. "I know that Marlo doesn't like asparagus," she begins. "And I know about Noelle's cancer scare. I know Oliver met someone who's perfect for him. I know your newest rookie is completely insane. I've never even heard your name. With this one, it's the things he doesn't say that are the most important. I kind of assumed you'd get that."

Andy shrugs. She does get that. The problem is, the words he doesn't say are the ones she needs to hear the most.

* * *

His eyes open slowly, and she doesn't even notice that he's awake until she hears him struggling against the tube in his throat.

"Oh my God! Sam!" She drops the book on the floor rushing to his side, grabbing his hands. "Don't, don't fight it, just relax," she says urgently but soothingly. "Don't fight the tube, it could hurt you." She has no idea what she's talking about, of course, but she saw it on TV once. "Nurse!" She shouts, raising her head to look out the open door. "Nurse!"

Half an hour later she is spoon-feeding him crushed ice to soothe his throat, her eyes never leaving his face. He smiles at her and icy water dribbles down his chin.

"Slob," she teases affectionately.

"Bad nurse," he retorts, his voice raspy, his eyes full of mischief.

She smiles a reluctant, indulgent smile, shaking her head. Suddenly she feels nervous being alone with him. She has spent all this time worried that he wouldn't make it and there hasn't been any room in her head to think about what would happen if – when – he did. The last thing she told him was that she loved him, and she doesn't know where to go from there.

"I really think Sarah should be here by now," she says, her eyes on the spoon she is stirring around the cup of ice. "I called her while the doctor was in with you."

Sam shakes his head no as she offers him another spoonful of ice. "You called my sister?" He asks, incredulous.

"Well, yeah, she went back to your place to shower and take a nap."

"So she's been here in the hospital, the whole time?" His eyebrows shoot up. "With you?"

Andy nods. "She's really nice. I think you must be adopted."

Sam groans, smiling. "Oh, God. How do I get the doctor back here? I want more of those coma drugs."

Andy rolls her eyes at him.

"I'm serious," he goes on, trying to keep the smile off his face. "I can't think of anything worse than you talking to my sister."

"Are you really that ashamed of me, Sammy?" Sarah asks from the doorway and they both turn to look at her. She is smiling widely.

"Oh, no," Sam assures her, smiling back. "It's McNally here who's a constant embarrassment, I just didn't want to subject you to that."

Sarah nods sagely. "Of course._That's_ why you didn't want me to meet her," she says pointedly and Sam looks away, grimacing slightly. He knows his sister, and he knows that she knows him.

"Well, y'know," he says.

"Yeah, Sam. I know," she agrees, her tone of voice making it clear that it's something else entirely she knows.

"Look, I'll go," Andy says quickly, standing up. "Let you guys talk. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, okay, Sam?"

His eyes widen in surprise. "Uh, okay."

She smiles a silent goodbye at Sarah and hurries out the door too quickly to hear Sarah hitting her brother lightly on the arm and saying, "You're an idiot, Sam Swarek."

* * *

When Andy returns the next day Sam is sitting up in bed, already looking a lot better. "Check it out," he says, waving the hand without an IV needle sticking out of it around the room. "I think I have enough balloons to start a business."

"You want to start a balloon-selling business?"

"No, McNally," he says as if she's being incredibly dim. "Helium."

"Second-hand helium, that's how you're going to make a living? Where's Sarah?"

"She's having dinner at the cafeteria. Meatloaf. It makes your voice go funny," he argues.

"Yummy. It can damage your lungs," she retorts.

"Killjoy."

"And anyway," she goes on as if she didn't hear him. "You already have a job."

"Right," Sam agrees, no longer smiling, his eyes on the door, as if he's wishing he could get up and walk out.

"Has, uh, has Marlo been here?" Andy asks, deciding that now is as good a time as any to bring it up.

"No," Sam replies, his eyes still on the door. "I guess she has other things on her mind right now."

Whatever she said to Sarah in Marlo's defence, Andy doesn't understand how a supposedly devoted girlfriend, who is so much in love that she goes off her meds, can have more important things to deal with than being by her boyfriend's side when he is in the hospital, but she can't think of a way to say that without it sounding like a criticism, so she just nods, even if he can't see her.

"And how's Nick?" Sam has turned his head and is smiling now, but the smile isn't friendly, and his eyes are challenging her.

"He's fine. I mean, I guess he's fine."

"You don't know?"

She shrugs, staring at her feet.

"Right," Sam says coldly interpreting her silence as an unwillingness to talk about their relationship.

"I haven't really seen him that much," she says nervously. "I've been spending most of my time here with you." She looks up and their eyes meet.

He doesn't say anything, waiting for her to continue.

She looks around, embarrassed, spots the copy of_Moby Dick_ on his bedside table and picks it up. "I've been reading this," she explains.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. It's really long."

He laughs. "I know. Do you like it?"

She shrugs noncommittally. "I don't know. It's_really_ long."

"And you don't like long stories?"

She looks at him, trying to decide if there's another layer of meaning to what he's asking, if he's talking about a different story. "I don't like the idea of constantly starting over."

He shrugs, causing one of the pillows behind him to slide to the floor. "If you lose your place you have to."

She gets up and walks to his bed, bending down to pick up the pillow. "No, you don't. You just pick up where you left off and continue." She fluffs up the pillow and offers it to him.

He leans forward, indicating that she should put it back where it was. "That simple, huh?" He asks the duvet.

"Yeah," she says, her hand on his back as she wedges the pillow into place. "I mean, the story doesn't change."

"You never know. Maybe Ahab decided catching the whale is too much effort."

She laughs. "I know I would," she says lightly.

He leans back, deciding the pillow is fine the way it is and she has spent enough time hiding back there with it. "Would you?" he asks, suddenly serious.

She takes a deep breath. Clearly they aren't talking about whaling anymore. "Maybe Moby Dick found a different sailor to mess with."

"I don't know," Sam says skeptically. "I get the feeling Ahab is meant to catch him."

"Yeah, well, if you keep on just giving up halfway through you'll never know."

He sighs deeply. She's not telling him anything he doesn't already know, but it just isn't that simple. "I meant what I said," he tells her, his eyes fixed on hers, willing her to understand just how much he means it. "I can't be there, watching you be happy with someone else. I_want_ you to be happy, I just can't look at it."

She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear nervously, but her eyes never leave his. "I meant what I said, too," she tells him at last.

"Okay," Sam says, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Well, why don't you hand me that book and then I can finally find out if Ahab catches his whale. Work on not giving up halfway through."

She smiles and goes to get the book for him. When he grabs it their fingers touch and he pauses like that, two of his fingers brushing one of hers. "I think I remember being told that Ahab drowns in the end. Moby Dick pulls him down." This analogy really is beyond dead by now, but he doesn't know how else to warn her.

She intertwines her fingers with his, the book falling on the bed next to him. "I'm sure the ride was worth it, though."

He sighs. He needs to actually tell her. Make absolutely sure she get it. "What I'm saying is, I'm not a sunshine and roses kind of guy, McNally. I not going to suddenly become someone else."

She leans down, her face inches above his. "Good," she tells him. "I don't want you to be someone else. I just want you to not walk away."

He waves their entwined hands to indicate the monitors behind them. "I don't think I'm going anywhere for a while," he jokes.

"Sam," she sighs.

He turns serious again. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises and she smiles, her lips descending on his.

"I'm not sure that's healthy," Sarah says suddenly from the doorway, pointing at the heart monitor that is beeping much more rapidly than it was thirty seconds earlier.

They both turn to look at her, Andy blushing, Sam wincing. She laughs. "Don't mind me. I'll just go... eat more meatloaf or something. I mean, it's really delicious. Not at all gross."

Sam lets go of Andy's hand and picks up _Moby Dick_ from the bed, throwing it at her awkwardly, the motion pulling at his stitches. "Here, read this and come back and tell me how it ends."


End file.
